Rating: PG-13
Warning: Some remembered bloodshed
Summary: One veteran's thoughts on the 4th of July
Disclaimer: Don't belong to me; couldn't afford the ammo
Comments: As long as they don't involve fruit or vegetables being hurled at me

00000000000000

He slid the screen door open and stepped out onto the balcony. He walked across
the small space, and leaned against the railing, a cool ocean breeze gently
caressing his face. He watched as the brilliant rays of the sun slid slowly
into the water, and the sparkle of man made light illuminated the growing
darkness. He turned and sat down on the sturdy patio chair, and eased into it's
padded comfort. He set his drink down on the small glass table, and as the breeze
grew stronger, he settled in for some quiet reflection. He wasn't a man given
to soul searching, but with the lifetime of experiences he'd had, it was
unavoidable at time. Today was one of those days. As he closed his eyes and let
his thoughts drift, and he returned to the day he'd received his first command.

The military was his life, for as long as he could remember, and that day had been
one of his proudest. He had been so young, arrogant and brash, and convinced
beyond reason that he would single handedly turn the tide of the war in their
favor. He would achieve victory, despite all obstacles, and return home covered
in glory. And then, he met Tom. Tom was on his second tour. He was hardly more
than a child, it seemed, but was more idealistic than any soldier he'd ever
met. He was the classic image of fresh faced youth, with a young wife, two year
old son, and another child on the way, and he believed in God and country with
all of his heart. Tom was the first soldier assigned him, once he'd taken
command, and he was determined to impress Tom with his skill and military
prowess. He would be the perfect leader, and all of his men, especially Tom,
would flourish under that leadership. He would be respected and revered, and
have men gladly willing to give their lives for him.

He looked out at the night sky, and remembered the first night maneuver he'd lead
with Tom and the rest of his new unit.

His orders were simple, and he figured they'd be home by dawn, bathed in the glory
he craved. Tom was by his side as they took a break, and he was regaling him
with stories of his mighty deeds and battles won, when he felt a change in the
air. Suddenly, they were surrounded by the cracks of gunfire, and everyone scrambled
for cover. Once they'd found cover, he and his men returned fire.
Unfortunately, it was too late, as many of them had already fallen, never to
rise again. Others lay gasping and moaning in pain, dirt and blood obscuring
their young faces. The enemy had fallen back, and the silence returned. He
looked around at the men who he'd set out to dazzle, and felt overwhelming
shock and anguish. These men had been entrusted to him, and
while he'd been worrying about impressing them, they'd been worried about survival,
both his and theirs. Suddenly, all the glory and honor meant nothing to him, as
the cost in human blood was quickly tallied all around him. Rallying his wits,
he began giving orders and working only toward getting his men home, both the
living and the dead. His thoughts suddenly shifted to Tom. He hadn't seen him,
once the shooting had begun, and he searched desperately for any sign of him.
Tom suddenly emerged from the darkness, helping another soldier, who was
struggling to walk. He looked at his CO expectantly, and completely without
judgement. As his gaze fell upon the two young soldiers, it hit him with the
force of one of those bullets, that his first responsibility was the lives of
each and every one of these men. He was there to protect them, and not to
impress them. Suddenly a single shot tore apart the darkness, and he felt
himself being shoved to the ground. Another shot quickly followed as his men
found the sniper with deadly accuracy. He stumbled to his knees, and realized
it had been Tom who had pushed him down. The relief he felt at being spared the
sniper's shot, was quickly replaced by horror, as he realized that Tom had
taken the bullet instead. It had torn a path through his chest that shredded
the vital, loving, idealistic heart that had beat within. He had most likely
been dead before they hit the ground. Suddenly, he realized that he didn't want
this, any of it. If command meant watching young men die he was supposed to protect,
he didn't want to be a leader. In one fateful night, his fervent wish had been
granted. One of his men, his soldier, Tom, had willingly given his young life,
for him.

As he watched the beads of condensation, trickle slowly down the sides of the glass,
he could still see the beads of sweat and blood that had decorated Tom's heroic
face. He took a drink, and then let his thoughts drift back to that dark time
and place.

A week after Tom's death, his request for transfer stateside already written, he
sat down to perform his last duty as a commanding officer, returning Tom's effects
to the family, along with a personal letter of condolence. He had tried to
write that letter a hundred times in the last week, and just couldn't seem to
find the words. As he set the pencil down for the fifth time, he noticed a
piece of paper in the pile of items being returned. He unfolded it and found a
letter Tom must have started just after he'd arrived. He willed himself to put
it back, but he felt drawn to it's words, and started to read:

Dear Cathy,

How's Tommy, Jr.? I'll bet he's getting bigger every day. I miss him and
his mom so much it hurts, but I hope "he" understands why I need to
be here.
You told me before I joined up, that it wasn't my fight, someone else should
go. I told you then, that we're all Americans, and that makes it our fight.
You see, sweetheart, I'm not just fighting an enemy, I'm fighting for the
right to choose where I live, to marry a girl I love, and raise our children
to fight for those same rights. You see, it's a battle we all have to help
fight, somehow. You by taking care of our son, and our daughter (my fingers
are still crossed for a girl), and me by carrying a gun in another country.
No matter what happens, never doubt that I'm doing the right thing. This is
how I'm contributing...

The letter ended
there. His eyes were streaming with silent tears. He reached over and tore up
the request he'd written. Tom had given his life, how could HE be willing to do
less? Suddenly, the words that had eluded him for days, poured forth on the
page, extolling the courage and virtue of a young soldier named Tom. As he
carefully signed the letter and added it to the box of effects to be returned
to Tom's family, he looked again at Tom's letter. He had only known the young
man a few days, but in that time, Tom had taught him more than most soldiers
learn in a lifetime. He stepped out of his tent with a renewed sense of
purpose, and a confident, compassionate leader emerged to replace the brash,
arrogant, glory hound of the previous week. John Smith now understood what it
meant to be a true leader, and he was ready to fulfill that duty.

As he finished the drink, and set the glass down, he heard footsteps behind him.
He didn't need to turn around, as he recognized the lighthearted arguing of his
team. Suddenly a loud explosion filled the sky, and glorious showers or red,
yellow and blue fell in vivid arrays.

"You guys are just in time. Grab something to drink and come on out,"
he called.

As the squabbling disappeared into the kitchen, he thought about his men. All of
his men. There had been a lot of them over the years. Some had died, some had
gone home to wives and children, and the ones with him now, had become his own
family. But as he watched the fireworks that marked another year's celebration
of freedom, he thanked them all, Tom, BA, Murdock, Face, and every soldier he'd
who'd served with him. Not only had they helped him become the man he was, but
they'd also helped preserve his freedom.

As the others joined him on the balcony to watch the fireworks, he looked at each
one with pride and contentment. "Happy Independence Day, guys."